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Wednesday, 31 October 2012

Halloween is upon us and
alongside it, all of the hoopla it entails.Shops are adorned with witch’s hats, pitchforks, devil horns, hollowed
out pumpkins and many more similar things.And though Halloween is not celebrated in South Africa on a large scale similar
to those we see overseas, I believe the trend is gaining ground.With more Halloween dress up costumes and
accessories available, awareness is created.In certain neighbourhoods kids even go trick or treating.I do however think it is quite uncommon to
knock on virtual stranger’s doors.And that
it is usually done within the safety of a security village or gated community.Even warning neighbours in advance, of intentions to call upon them, urging them to stock up on sweets.

And so, with all of the Halloween
goodies abounding, my thoughts drifted to dress-ups and the outfits that one
sees on TV and on the Internet.Kids donning
elaborate and fun costumes.If memory
serves, my little niece in England, donned a punk-rock-gothic-princess-chick
theme last year.And seeing the pics of
others on Facebook, masks are big.Which
in turn made me think about masks and how I wear one every single day of my
life.Not something exotic and
adventurous like a Batman mask or a Supergirl mask.Perhaps something a bit more mundane.Yet, essential to my “superpowers” none the
less.Because I simply cannot face my
day and the world in general without…..

Eyeliner.No, don’t laugh.I’m being one hundred percent serious here.My eyeliner is the mask behind which I hide.Without it I feel naked and vulnerable.But with a single swipe of a line of black
kohl, I feel ready and able to take on the world.It is amazing how much confidence that one
little act instils in me.It can hide a
multitude of flaws, detracting attention away from other less stellar
areas.It boosts my ego, makes me walk
taller, feel more intelligent and act more confidently.It truly is a miracle cure.

Another arsenal in my weaponry is
my pair of spectacles – which definitely adds intelligence.Not only does it improve my vision, but also
my hearing.Because without wearing my
glasses, my hearing takes a knock.One is
unaware how much you use sight in your verbal and listening skills.Because without the benefit of sight, one is
unable to correctly interpret many things that are spoken.You lose out on body language, hand gestures
and facial expression.

I think many of us wear a “mask”. Using things that we deem essential.We use them to cover up and to add a layer to
our skin.They give us confidence and
act as our emotional crutch – in a healthy way of course.A physical manifestation of an emotional need.And I don’t think we ever join the dots and
see it for what it is.For my Grantie it’s
his sunglasses and a cap in summer.For Luke
it’s his cell phone always attached to his hand.For some it’s a cigarette.For other’s it’s a drink.Perhaps a “security blanket” so to
speak.As well as a “comfort toy” if you
like.Something you simply can’t do
without.That you acutely miss and look
for if separated from it.

I think there’s nothing wrong
with this.If a little girl’s earrings
give her the boost that she needs, that’s fantastic.If a little boy always has a little car,
rugby ball or superhero toy in his hand, that’s also okay.Ladies have handbags and men cling on to car
keys.Each to their own is all that I say.

And while some may wear physical “masks”
in some form or another, others have other coping mechanisms of a different type in place.Perhaps an acerbic tongue and razor sharp
comments.Loads of boisterous
confidence.The telling of jokes, and an
escape in humour.Bouts of self-pity.Even nastiness and being selfish and horrible
to others can be a mask.Maybe deflecting
attention away from the true crux of the matter.A smoke screen of sorts.

For me, I’m happy with my
eyeliner.It symbolises feeling ready
and confident to face the world.It’s
harmless and cheap – a winner deal.And though
a simple eyeliner may seem so small and silly to others, to me it is huge.I love you Charlie black eyeliner – with all
of my heart.And I will never cheat on you
with Revlon, Rimmel or any other makes.You
make my world work. And I thank you for that.

Tuesday, 30 October 2012

My kids just love
travelling.Or perhaps they just love it
when I travel?Because quite often, I
find myself saying “pack your bags we’re going on a guilt trip”.This when they’re bemoaning some or other
injustice that’s been done to them.Usually by me.“You don’t…….Why didn’t I…….I’m always…….”.They are all pro’s at the parent-guilt-trip.If only it worked.And if only I cared.

Because all I can say in response
to their whinging is, “quite frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn”.Because, I really and truly don’t.One of the few perks of parenting, is the
right to make unilateral decisions.I
don’t have to ask their permission.I am
the boss.And if they don’t like my
decisions, then my heart pumps lumpy custard for them.Because once again I just don’t care.I know this may sound callous and harsh.They are obviously allowed to have an opinion
and give input, should the occasion call for it.I listen to them, give them their time and if
there is merit to what they’re saying it may hold sway.But the buck stops with me.I am older than them.I am wiser than them.I have more experience than them.And unlike my children, who often only see
short term rewards and not long term gains, I get to make the final call.I am not autocratic or a dictator, by any
means.I feel that I’m fair and
just.And if they don’t like my
decision, they may voice their opinion, but I will hold steady.If they don’t like it, they’ll have to get
over it.I’ve told all of them that I’m
not running a popularity contest.They
don’t have to like me.It would be
marvellous if they did, but not necessary all of the time.In fact, I would be a highly ineffective
parent if wasn’t able to do just that – parent.A word synonymous with unpopularity at times.

Last week, Amber had her
entrepreneurship day at school.A much
anticipated event.She fondly nurtured
visions of money streaming in.Of being
able to buy clothes and magazines and jewellery galore.I told her that all we could do, was make
some awesome goodies.Make a really nice
poster to advertise her wares, have a fair price, do a bit of selling on the
day and hope for the best.I was happy
to fork out the initial money to cover her costs – the raw products if you
would.But I ensured that we kept track
and a list of our expenses.I also told
her that if I already had any goodies that she required in the house, they
would be on me – a freebie if you like.And in the same vein, I would give her a float, enabling her to have
change for her clientele.But from the
get-go I told her, that she would only start showing a profit, after covering
all of her costs.Am I perhaps too
harsh?But the whole point of the
entrepreneurship day, after all is as part of an Economic Management and
Sciences project.Yes, she is my lovely
little girl, but she had to experience first-hand how these things worked.

On the big day, I went to the
school and supported her and various other kids as well.And my Berry’s sales were not stellar to be
truthful.When I fetched her from
school, she was not happy.She had only
made R197.Until I pointed out that she
still had to pay me.R97, if you don’t
mind.She was so upset with me and said
“what type of mother would do this to their own little girl?”.To which, I replied “me, hand over the
dosh”.We got home and amidst much
grumbling at first, she conceded defeat and parted with some of her
earnings.We sat down together and made
a little deal.I would only charge her
for the cost of the goodies that were sold and with that in mind, I refunded
her R47.A very fair deal in my opinion,
and she was delighted.The rest of her
stock would be used for stocking fillers and the like.I’m hoping she learnt something from
this.And I’m very proud of the hard way
that she worked towards her goal.She
was diligent in making her things and had great joy in doing so.And even before we had reached our deal, she
had seen the light so to speak, handed over her R97 and was delighted with the
resulting R100 profit.The rest was a
marvellous bonus.But I had to justify
it and make it legit.Not a hand-out, as
it would have taken away her pleasure in earning it herself.This way she feels justified and proud of her
efforts.A wonderful outcome and a true
win-win.

But alas, Amber is not my only
child who excels in the field of parental guilt tripping.With Luke in tow, it’s a case of continually
having my bags packed.If things
depended on him alone, I’d permanently be off on some or other guilt trip.So, at the moment, quite unsurprising, I’m in
the dog box so to speak, yet again.And
the cause of my latest foray into travel?Well, I am sure that in his opinion I am being very mean spirited.I won’t let him change a subject for next
year.But not just any subject either –
Design.I have a talented boy.No, wait – let me rephrase that – a very
talented boy.A child with a knack for
art.But he would like to forfeit his
chance to pursue this field.Pray tell
why?Well, that’s an easy question to
answer.Design is very, very, very hard
work.Entailing difficult projects - stretching your imagination, boundaries and
concept of what you’re capable of.His teacher
this year, also happens to be the head of the department – a known
perfectionist and hard task master.A virtual
slave driver if Luke is to be believed.And,
actually I do believe Luke.However I also
believe that this is a good experience for Luke.That it is bringing forth remarkable work
from him.And I will not bow down to a
whim of his and let him switch to an easier cop-out subject just so that he can
get a free ride so to speak and high marks on an insignificant and virtually
worthless subject that would teach him nothing.

I dutifully listened to Luke’s
reasoning.He would not be following a
career path in design, because he reckons that at the ripe old age of fourteen
he has his life and career all mapped out ahead of him.We approached the topic of switching subjects
from all different angles and the truth eventually came out.He liked the work he was delivering.He enjoyed the final product of his
labours.He even enjoyed the process of
seeing his project grow.However, the
hours required and amount of work needed left him very unimpressed.It severely impeded on his free time.And he was sure that if he perhaps had a
different design teacher things would be better, as it would be easier for him.So he made a fatal flaw in his reasoning, by
admitting that he really enjoyed it.And
let’s not forget my motherly conviction that he is good.

Still I promised him that I would
give the subject some thought.I even
phoned the school and the Design teacher phoned me back.We had a long conversation and I told him my
dilemma.That I was a biased mother, who
believed her child had talent.That I felt
he would deeply regret his decision if he gave up the subject.That I firmly believed he had ability, but
that I realised that I was not impartial.I told him that I didn’t want to waste his time and that I wouldn’t want
him to waste mine either.If he felt
Luke was a hopeless case, we could call it quits.No harm done.Surely nothing would frustrate him more than having a child lacking in
vision and skill as a pupil.I wouldn’t
want to push Luke in a direction if he was a hopeless case.Yet, I knew he wasn’t.And Mr Visser assured me the same.That Luke had bucket loads of talent and
showed lots of promise.However, I am
not a fool.And realise that he could
easily just say this in any rate, so as to not lose face with a parent and
admit defeat.Whatever the truth, Luke
will be continuing with Design.Sorry
for him.

Saying he’s annoyed with me, is
putting it mildly.I have however
explained my position to him a few times already.I am his mom.I get to make the final decision.My job is not to give him his every heart’s desire.But rather to guide him along this
journey.Assisting him in making
informed, unbiased and correct decisions, not based on emotion alone.So whether he likes it or not, Design it
shall be.I eagerly look forward to more
masterpieces.Yes, it’s lots of hard
work.Requiring many, many hours.But the satisfaction and pride in a final
piece, outweighs the effort and hard work in getting there every time.

And given a few days, I am sure
that this will blow over and will only be raised again with every consecutive
Design project in the future.But in the
short term, there will be some or other new reason to get me to pack my bags
and send me off on a guilt trip.Yet again
– if only it worked and if only I cared.Just as well I never unpack my bag.

2nd Term project - name with a mirror image of it, just below, filled with colourful geometric patterns

So my Grantie, fresh from his
adventures in Namibia, has another upcoming do.And this time, I am happy to report, it includes partners as well.The cause for the shindig is a dealer
conference-come-year-end-function type thingy.Not exactly sure what the technical name of “the event” is (I keep on
getting it wrong), but that there even is an event is enough info for me.And so me, of the little air travel
experience, is going to Durban for the weekend.How zhoosh is that?And the
zhoosh doesn’t simply stop there, but rather, is multi-faceted.“A” – I get to fly in an airoplane - for me of the little air travel experience, that's pretty huge.“B” – we’re staying in the Hilton dahling,
the Hilton!“C” – I’m assuming that
seeing as Grant will be otherwise occupied on Saturday, during the course of
the day, I will have some me-time.Unless of course there are some elaborate plans to entertain the lady
folk while the men are busy conferencing away.“D” – I will not be cooking for a period of time.“E” – I will not be cleaning, doing Jumping
Castles, making kids sarmies, driving kids around, playing policeman in my kids
disputes, do grocery shopping or be involved in any decision making (decision making
is exhausting).“F” – on Saturday night,
we will be treated to a black tie event.All very glamorous, I tell you.

However, to get from “A” right
through to “F” involves a lot of planning, and yes, decision making.I’ve farmed my business out to my neighbour’s
children – a first for me.They are all independent
kids and quite wise for their years. And they all have their own businesses and jobs to
earn pocket money.There is definitely a
good work ethic going and my neighbours have clearly done well with their
kids.Yet, I will obviously do all the leg
work and planning in advance, leaving them to merely be on hand to let Castles go out and
receive them back again.I have also
farmed my kids out for the weekend.All to
different homes and their favourite friends to boot.And I am extremely grateful to their parents, who are also my friends,
for having my kids.A none too easy
task, as Luke starts with exams on Monday, writing Physical Science, no
less.It is indeed a very good friend
who takes on another fourteen year old, when she also has to motivate her own
fourteen year old and a sixteen year old to study at the same time.Not mentioning a younger brother too.The weekend also coincides with a school Fun
Day, for which I have helped to arrange a stall, including duty shifts.Something I feel badly about, as I’m asking
parents to offer an hour of their time on Saturday, yet I won’t even be there
to lend a hand myself.If just feels
cheeky and ever so off.

My big problem though, is the
black tie event.Because glamorous
though it sounds, it obviously involves wearing a stunning outfit.This is also not really a problem, as I have
in my opinion at least, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL DRESS IN THE WORLD.Seriously, it really is gorgeous.I have the matching shoes.I have a handbag that goes with it and I even
know which jewellery to wear.The problem,
is fitting into the dress.I can't just
buy another dress.For one, despite my
children being convinced otherwise, money does not grow on trees.Besides which, I love this dress and grab at
any opportunity to wear it.When I told
my friend Thea about my problem she said “Just buy another dress”.To which I replied “But I can’t.I love this dress”.And then my wise friend said “You will love
another dress.I never thought I could
love another child, until Aidan came along”.So, she had a point.But still, I
love my dress.I have been dieting and
dieting and I have already lost a few kilo’s that had crept up on me (I just
don’t know when they did this creeping mind you).

But with our event looming, I simply
had to bite the bullet, go for broke and try the dress on this morning.I had been too scared to do so up until this
point.And in fact, I didn’t need to try
it on before starting to lose weight, as I just knew it would never fit then.Well, imagine my pleasant surprise, when I slipped
it over my head.It fit me like a glove
and I stood in front of my mirror glowing, making ga-ga eyes at the dress,
admiring it yet again.Until I remembered
that I hadn’t zipped the back up yet.I tried
and tried and tried on my own.I sucked
in, I hunched my shoulders, I curled into a ball as small as I could, but to no
avail.So, I called my domestic worker,
Monica, to help me.She is a true
miracle worker.Why, the way she can
sort my house out is incredible, and given her skills with domestic duties, I was
sure she would zip me up quick-quick.Well,
she took one little tug at the offending zipper and said “yoh, yoh, yoh – it’s
too fat now”.As if my fragile ego could
take anymore.I begged and pleaded with
her to try harder as I had to make this work.But despite coaxing the dress and the zipper alike, they would not budge.So, alas, as a last resort, I called on Grant
as well.I must say that by now all
pretence of dignity had completely vanished.They were both tugging and pulling. Monica still clicking her tongue
saying “yoh, yoh, yoh” the whole time and Grant doing a fair bit of grunting.

But finally, after a gigantic
effort they zipped me up.Sweet victory
at last!However, I could barely breathe,
and my mammary glands were squashed pancake thin – most unattractive.I would have to pull my stomach in the whole
night, refrain from eating and drinking and allow myself to breath very shallow
breaths at half hourly intervals only.Funny
enough, Grant prefers me when I’m breathing.The thought of an unconscious wife at the company do holds little
appeal.I’ve told him he’s being very
short sighted.Because a huge fringe
benefit to having me unconscious, is the fact that I would finally stop
talking.I like to fill silences with
speech, a bad habit.On the rare
occasion that I get angry and I at least still talk to Grant, he knows that he’s
okay and all will be well.It’s when I get
angry and stop talking that he worries, and ironically that’s when he starts
filling silences with speech.

So, I went to the Mall today, in
search of a new dress.Yes, I confess, I
went and looked for a new dress.Because
though I’m ever so hopeful that I will still lose that last kilo or two, the
possibility does exist that it might not happen and then what?So, best I have a replacement ready for in
case.But here’s the thing – I really
don’t want to cheat on my dress.Her feelings
would be hurt and she’s been so good to me – always making me look my best.So, just perchance, I find myself walking
past Clicks and for just a moment I was overcome with an insanity of
sorts.What if I tried some of those
diet products that they advertise all of the time?Rationally and logically I know that they’re
all just hogwash and rubbish, and I don’t buy into the concept at all.Because surely if you want to lose weight,
the solution is quite obvious?Eat less and
more healthy at least, and exercise too.Hardly
difficult to realise that that is the only way.But the allure of fast weight-loss made me walk down that aisle none the
less.The range of products astounded
me.As did their promises of quick
instant success and their price tags as well.I was uhming and aahing, thinking how one would choose?So, I asked a shop assistant to guide
me.Said shop assistant said that she
would be of no use, as she works in the kitchen department, but that I may
consult the rep that was on hand from one of the weight loss companies, who was there promoting
her products.

Right, I thought.Like she’d be unbiased.Naturally she would promote her brand, the
most expensive one on the shelf.When she
asked me what I was looking for, I very simply stated that I had four days in
which I needed to lose at least two kilo’s.She dutifully steered me over to her shelf and showed me her
products.Running down the competition
of course.Hers were the best, most
effective, most reliable and trustworthy, without a doubt.I exclaimed dismay over the price of the
mutie.And then, every so slyly she
called me over close with a “come over here”.I followed her a bit further down the aisle, assuming she was going to try
and pawn yet some more of her company’s products off onto me.

But instead, she leaned in real
close.Looked furtively around.Lowered her head and whispered “I’ve got
stuff”, to me.Now in my opinion the
word “stuff” is rather dubious.And I should
know – I use it myself, to cover a myriad of things.And then upon seeing my blank look she told
me that she had some highly illegal, yet highly effective weight-loss products
that she could sell to me.She told me
it was illegal, that it contained masses of ephedrine and was classified as an
anabolic steroid too.Then if it was
possible, she dropped her voice even lower and said “I’m a dealer”.I can get you “the stuff”.She told me exactly what it was called and
how she herself had lost 7kg in just 2 days.How her product was the real deal as there were many rip-offs on the
market.That she got “the stuff” from a
factory (oh, as opposed to mixing it in your garage at home I take it),
etc.One of the miracle tabs I could pop
was a quick boost weight-loss wonder drug, fondly called F.O.F, which stands
for F… Off Fat.Charming!And so she went on and on.

I swear my eyes nearly popped out
of my head.Part of me thought “perhaps
she is wearing a wire (I know, I watch too much TV) and she wants to entrap me”.Deftly whipping out her detectives badge
after I bought some of “the stuff” and arresting me.And a part of me thought “what if I’m the one
wearing the wire (I know, I watch far too much TV) and I want to entrap her?”.She warned me that she could lose her job,
but still she went on, giving me the hard sale.You know me?The person she doesn’t
know from a bar of soap and who could be wearing a wire (I know I…sorry).Perhaps she was a bit high on some of her own
tabs?

She warned me that I would get
the shakes from taking the pills, but that the positives would outweigh (pun
intended) the negatives.Then she asked
me if I exercised at all.And am I not
currently doing arm exercises to try and firm my flab up?So I said “yes”.Little was she to know that my arm exercises
entailed me leaning against my coffee table with arms raised on the table, legs
stretched out in front of me, dropping my bum, and using my arms to lift my
body weight up again (backwards, you see).And just so by the way, I’ve changed my exercise venue.I used to do it on the base of my bed, to
very little effect.But I’ve found that
since I’ve moved my spot to the coffee table and combine it with watching some
TV at the same time, I’ve managed increase my stamina from 30 seconds to at
least 45 seconds.Impressive indeed.

Yet, feeling an urge to be
slightly honest, I told her that I didn’t belong to a gym and that I only
exercised (ja right) at home.She told
me “oh, that’s okay – I can smuggle you into the gym for a few days this week”.My mouth literally dropped, yet she didn’t
stop.She really must have been
high.Or perhaps she has just cooked her
brains from an ephedrine overdose?She took
a simply huge risk.In a crowed and busy
shop.Wearing her USN clothes.Approaching a complete stranger.Putting her job on the line.Doing irreparable damage to the legitimate
company she is supposedly the front agent for.A beautiful young girl.She was
slender and slim.But so what?

If she could approach me so
easily, how many others has she also approached?How many new clients has she gained?How has her little cottage industry style
business expanded?On the one hand she
is quite clever.Potential clients
literally come to her, asking her for help.And she is their miracle worker.Telling
them what they are desperate to hear.The
tablets are about R500 for a month’s supply and I wonder what her profit margin
is?She told me how to check if her
product is real.How you can go onto the
anabolic steroid website. How you type
in the barcode of “the stuff” and how you then have a pop-up window appear on
the screen, advising you that the goods are illegal and dangerous.

Did she perhaps influence any
desperate young girls eager to fit into their Matric Farewell dresses?Teenagers, who still need to nurture their
bodies, not poison them.I told her no
thank you and that I would rather find another way.She waved me off with a happy smile.No concern as she surely had more business
waiting just down the aisle, with another weight-loss sucker.

So, I didn’t find a new
dress.I will diet in my healthy manner
some more.And the dress will fit a bit
better by the end of the week.And if it
doesn’t, it’s okay.I will make another
plan.

However, on second thought, I am
willing to be a whistle blower for both Clicks and USN.If I give them the name and identity of “my
dealer”, instead of a normal monetary reward for my good deed, I will settle for
taking payment in weight loss products instead.

Saturday, 27 October 2012

You know how you sometimes see
couples and they’re just so perfectly matched – temperaments, tastes, and all
things in between.And other times you
see couples that seem so ill-suited.But
despite apparent looks, they’ve got a magical combo.Who know what makes a couple tick.I’m suspecting it’s hard work, tolerance,
understanding and love.

Grant and I are polar
opposites.His childhood was conventional.Straight down the line and pretty
conservative.Whereas mine was rather
bohemian by comparison.His family is
small and rather quiet, whereas mine can’t be accused of either those
qualities.My family is artistic and
creative, and classically educated in contrast to his that is sporty, business
minded and perhaps more practical.His family
is more nuclear and plays things close to their chests.Mine is like a wide open book, everything
open for everyone to see.We don’t do
secrets, resentments, mistrust.And my
Ouma Helene is fond of saying “we are not clandestine people”.Things are discussed, mulled about and
everyone has opinions.We’re involved in
each other’s lives and see each other often – rejoicing in closeness and an
exceptional bond.

And when it comes to raising a
family of your own, it is quite a challenge to find a happy medium between “my
way” and “your way”.The best one can
hope for is a melding of sorts.Perhaps the
best of both bits can come to the fore.Compromise
is key.

Grant and I often laugh about how
different we are.At school he was the
cool jock.It was all athletics this and
sporty that.Victor Ludorums, regional
and provincial colours, records, medals and certificates.And lots and lots and lots of girls.I think he was a bit of a player.Now, as for me.I was the nerd.All Library prefect, choir, drama club, piano
and the lot.I even had the required
spectacles to complete the dork look.I was
pathetic at sports and played in the 7th team for Netball.This great achievement only because there
wasn’t an 8th team.

His family is very religious and
devout Christians.In general, with the
exception of a few, my family falls short of that mark.I remember being in Grade 6 at Beaumont, in
the Afrikaans class.And succumbing to
peer pressure, feeling the need to go to church.The one every other Afrikaans kid went to –
the Dutch Reformed Church just around the corner from our house.I asked my folks if I could go and remember
them saying “it’s not really our bag, but you’re welcome to go, we hope you
enjoy it”.I went on my own for quite a
while, until the Sondagskool became to feel a bit too much like hard work.It was all remembering verses and lots of
homework too.There were lots of rules
and regulations, fire and brimstone too.I had to dress up quite smart and didn’t have the right clothes.I always felt a bit uncomfortable and out of
place.Like I was acting in a play,
without the correct script.And in the
end I fell by the way side.

But enough of religion and back
to opposites again we go.I feel like
for the most part we’ve adopted my way of doing things.Perhaps this is a mother’s prerogative when
it comes to her children, especially as mothers more often spend more time with
their kids.The way I’m accustomed to,
and was raised in, is my frame of reference.Grant takes a lot of guidance from me with regards to the children’s
emotional needs.Perhaps an area that is
more my forte.And though I’m quite
strict, in a fun way, I suppose (if that’s possible), Grant is more of a
disciplinarian.I’m playful and a
confidant and the one the kids come to to discuss stuff.I’m very hands on and involved.Yet, I know without a shadow of doubt that I can’t
do it on my own.I can’t be a single
parent and would hate it.Grant is my
sounding board and we discuss everything.Neither is autonomous – we reach joint decisions with regards to our
kids.With Grant away the last few days,
I’ve had to be good cop and bad cop with the kids.Not fun for me.Or them, I suppose.

We’ve created some unique ways of
our own – my Grantie and I.Parenting
skills we’ve picked up along the way, not copied from his family or mine.But rather gained en route.And I suspect we’ll continue adding to our
repertoire as our kids get older and we are parents for longer.We complement each other and form a winning
team.Cole always says “Daddy is rough”
and “Mommy is smooth”.Quite observant
for a little boy.I’m hoping that the
joint outcome of team Grant-Helene is perfect, just for us and our kids.And we’ll expel wonderful young children into
the world.

It all began rather innocuously
with an “And so it came to pass”.But the
real blogging and stretching of me only actually began from my second
post.Especially since the first was
more of a “let’s test this and see if it works” experiment.In the past 100 posts I’ve done the
following:

I’ve done a bit of soul
searching.Delved into my darker
side.Rejoiced in the silly that lives
in side of me.Been brutally honest.Expressed appreciation to those that mean so
very much to me.Showed gratitude.Given love.I’ve kept it real, except for the silly bits of course, because the humour
is what keeps me going.Thought deep
thoughts.Had fun.Laughed a lot, mostly at myself.Relived some special memories.Gone down some nearly forgotten roads.Triggered some nearly forgotten memories
too.Celebrated my large and lovely
family, whom I love madly.Shared
aspirations, disappointments, regrets, wishes and dreams.Shown a window into my world and the people
around me.

I’ve strived to be respectful of
those I blog about.And only blog with
their permission if my posts include them.I’ve decided to reflect back happiness and not ponder on negativity.An attitude which I apply to my daily life
too.And though some posts are more
serious, they’re not dark and depressing.I’ve been truthful and sincere.I’ve given of myself.

I love the bubbling of ideas in
my head, when I’m writing a story.The
way the words flow, like a beautiful melody.Or perhaps it’s rather like a fast sprouting tree. Literally shooting out of the ground, growing
leaves, branches and fruit all in one day.How I might start writing in the morning, but mentally keep on adding to
the story throughout my day, until it reaches completion before posting at night.My thoughts drift to something I might like
to add.A delicious idea I’d like to
explore.A feeling, an experience I’d
like to show more.All this whilst carting
my kids and doing everyday things.My
brain never switches off.

I am not sure how good any of the
stuff is.And though it is extremely
rewarding if others like the stories, I suppose their true purpose is to keep
me entertained.It is a history of my
life, thoughts and feelings.A journal
of sorts.Something my kids might enjoy
later in life, when they look back on it.It’s kind of a diary of their mom, their family and their
childhood.And even if I stop tomorrow
(which I have nooooo intention of doing), the bit I’ve done so far has been
great and so rewarding.I’m proud of
what I’ve done and what I’ve accomplished and achieved.More than I ever dreamt possible.I never knew I’d have that much to write
about and I’m delighted with the avenues and twisty little roads I’ve gone down
on my journey.When I look back at past
posts, I still love the same stuff.Laugh at my own silliness again.Feel affirmation of what I’ve written.The love I get from others fills me with joy.Most of my whole big family reads daily.And I often get e-mails, messages, bbm’s,
sms’ and even phone calls about posts and comments.Friends and family alike.And then of course some new faces I’ve met
through the blog too.

And much as I simply do the blog
for fun and all the stated reasons above, there is a wonderful sense of
anticipation when I wake up in the mornings and check what’s happened since the
last time I looked – the activity and stats when I get a chance to take a
peep.I get a warm feeling in the very
pit of my stomach when a story does well.When there’s a surge of interest, when it gets shared and when there’s
lots of comments too – both on the actual blog and Facebook.

It’s a huge commitment though,
mainly because I’m anal and like to post every day.And I can’t post a blog I simply don’t
love.It might sound very dramatic, but
it’s a bit like giving birth to a story daily – without having to go through
the water retention, labour and extra weight.And
once I post it each night, the baby gets feet of its own and has to be
independent, because I find myself pregnant with yet another story again.Though the writing is easy and relatively quick,
I do add a bit to blogs before the final post.I look for pics and if need be, make sure that my facts are
correct.I’m sure I make loads of typo’s
and I’m sorry for that.I always check
and double check before posting, but often I’m tired and one slips through the
cracks.I consult my Concise Oxford
Dictionary every so often – with a stretch of the arm, it’s wisdom and
knowledge becomes mine.I take more
care when taking photos these days, with an eye on a possible post at some
stage.And each and every time, just
before I publish my post, I read through it yet again and think “aah, I really
love this one”.

I’d like to say a big thanks to
all that stay tuned.For reading my
ramblings and checking in on the blog.For sharing and commenting and spreading the word.Your support and appreciation mean the world
to me.You all keep me going and make it
worthwhile.For without you, there would
be no point.There’s a joy in sharing. Because stories are the best when they’re told
to someone else.The retelling brings it
to life and a shared understanding.And perhaps through my writing some might
“get” me more.I think that even I might
have a better handle on me right about now.It’s made me more focused and I’ve gained lots in the process.I’m still Helene – slightly overweight (but
attempting to get a bit thinner at present), approaching forty, mother of three
kids I adore, wife of Grant, Jumping Castle tycoon (in my dreams – no wait, in
my dreams I don’t have to work), daughter of Maggie, granddaughter of many,
sister of Albert and Katrine, ambitious and fledgling blogger, Harty Farty
crafter, helper, giver, kind person, hopefully good friend to many, humble,
grounded and perhaps a little bit funny and quirky too.

So happy 100th and
watch this space.I hope to keep you
entertained with my ramblings some more.

Thursday, 25 October 2012

Shame, the way my poor husband
slaves away at work is near criminal.The pressure they put him under is truly horrendous.And it is a testament to his tenacity,
perseverance and determination that he puts up with it.

Why, this week alone, he’s gone
off on an all-expenses paid 4x4 bundu bashing trip to Namibia.Apparently the price tag attached to the trip
is between R30 000 – R40 000 per person.And the cause for the “treat” is an
opportunity to put one of his company’s cars through its paces in the hot Namib
desert.A marvellous treat forked out by his
company, and arranged by Leisure Wheels, if you don’t mind.In fact, they’re taking a whole lot or
representatives from various car manufacturers on this trip.Ostensibly so that they can all try out the
toughest contenders in their vehicular stables so to speak.So I’m suspecting there’ll be a little bit of
friendly competition thrown into the mix as well, amidst the participants.All gentlemanly of course.You know, a type of “mine-is-bigger-than-yours”
kind of thing.Probably pretty
reminiscent of most conversations had by my 8 year old and his friends.It’s all about whose is bigger, stronger,
faster, more cool, etc.Boys and their
toys.Do they ever grow up?Bigger certainly, but emotional growth?

And despite the hefty cost of the
trip, the injustice of it all, is that my “poor” husband has to stay in a
tent!Perish the thought.Admittedly, it’s not your conventional rickety
tent, assembled under duress during fading light because you’ve arrived at your
campsite late and it happens to be raining.No, not those type of tents.Why,
these “tents” are permanently erected structures, of the 5 star variety.As mentioned before – poor thing.How he suffers for his career.

He’s being wined and dined,
living in luxurious splendour.Doing
dune cruises, nights around the camp fire (boma style), exotic professionally
catered meals, wild game seeing and so the list goes on.Sies tog!And he has to endure this for five adventure filled days and four long
nights.The torture of it!The injustice!

And little old me???What do I get?Well, I get to spend undiluted time with my
three “little cherubs”.How lucky am I?You know how it goes.Driving them around all afternoon.Supervising homework.Helping two of the three with orals,
including looking for pictures for their orals.Luke has athletics trials at the moment, so the time that I need to
fetch him from school, is pretty much a case of “who knows when”.No timing schedule or rough idea.So I’m basically on constant standby, just
waiting to fetch and cart.Cole had a
cricket match.Amber had an extra piano
lesson.My domestic worker and I needed
to lift on of my very heaviest castles, onto a bakkie, so that I could take it
in for repairs this morning.It was so
heavy, that after loading it, we walked back into the house and both of us
gulped back an anti-inflammatory, in anticipation of the back ache we’re bound
to have.Then it was drive through to
Bothasig to drop the sick Castle off and fetch four babies, that had just been
fixed by the Jumping Castle doctor.Quickly spent an hour and half at school helping out this morning.Grocery shopping.Endless phonecalls.Backed-up e-mails that I need to reply
to.Had to take Luke to a shop urgently
for a must have item.Prepare
supper.Try and coax printer to print
urgent pics needed by Amber for school tomorrow.Entrepreneurship day at school for my
fledgling little business woman, Amber, with all of the mania and intensity
that only she can provide so well.Assessments for Cole at school, so that instead of doing a regulation
Phonics test as we do every Friday, on a mere 15 words, for this week, it’s a
whopper test of 225 words to learn, as well as fifteen sentences.Cole’s first introduction to multiplication
and division, ensuring lots of extra time needed for maths homework.Cole’s on-going French Knitting project,
which has to be handed in on Monday.The
task has now been set, to make something with his French Knitting – a little
creation, if you like.I haven’t even
gone there yet, as he is still diligently knitting away.He has high hopes to make a carpet for our
lounge – right!And I must be honest,
though he’s trying his best, he’s not a natural.His knitting bears a remarkable resemblance
to a rat’s tail.All tufts and fluff
sticking out, changes of direction, dropped stitches and huge gaping
holes.Amber is trying to grasp a new
piano piece, so instead of playing both hands separately, she is now grappling
with combined hands, leading to lots of practice and “Mommy, come and look and
listen”.Luke has to start revision for
the exams on the horizon as well as do continual work on a tough Design
project.I’ve had a fair bit of Harty
Farty admin and work this week.A few
requests to do more markets, leading to forms to be completed and payments to
be made.Ordering of new Jumping
Castles, so lots of admin there as well.E-mails back and forth and payments once again.We’ve run out of dog’s food and the printer
won’t print.I can’t remember how the
new scanner works, despite Grant showing me before he left.Helping with organising of funds that need to
be raised for the Fun Day at school, as well as planning of two stalls for the
Fun Day too.Remember nicest uniforms
for Wednesday for sports photos and hair done really well.Cole had a meltdown in the school pool today
during practice as well as a bit of a drama with another child, leading to
parental intervention.Never nice.Extra money sent to various schools this week
for Fun Day donation, Fun Day tickets, Photo’s, Santa Shoe Boxes,
Entrepreneurship Day, etc.Little
dancing pow-wow to sort out costumes for an upcoming demo.And plans set in motion, for a special end of
year class treat for one of my kids’ teachers.

This weekend should be
interesting as well. A mini-cricket
tournament in Grabouw for the whole morning on Saturday, and I’ve got Castles
at the same time as well.We’ll have to
step up the piano practice.Revision
will go into full gear.Design project
must be worked on.And let’s not forget
the French Knitting too.

So, in an act of rebellion, I am
taking the night off.No e-mails will be
replied.No sms’ will be answered.But only after I finished writing this, my
latest blog, and posted it, probably at about 23h30.I might even put on the chick-flick I
ambitiously took out for myself.I’m
sure to last at least until the credits pass, before fading completely. Maybe I don't even last that long.

And what do I get from my
Grantie?Every so often, a “delightful”
sms, saying how cool his room is.How
awesome the food is.How amazing the
cars are.How fabulous the dunes
are.How incredible the hot weather
is.How there are animals, walking right
outside his window.How he touched an
Eland and a Rhino.How lovely the people
are.How much he’s enjoying
himself.How fun the extreme driving
conditions are.How cold and refreshing
the beers are - this one I got mid-morning already.As mentioned, the suffering…

So what do I do?I send him sms’ back saying “so glad you’re
having fun, enjoy yourself, have a blast”.And I really hope he does.What a
privilege for him to have this time.I
miss the extra pair of hands though and the firmer discipline – Grant is better
at it than me.I miss the numerous phone
calls we make during a normal day.The
coffee we drink together, the hugs and kisses we share.And whereas I normally have my husband lying
next to me in bed, tonight I am spooning with Cole.He has asked if he can sleep with me.Always a treat for the kids when Grant is
away.However it will not merely be Cole
and I in the bed.Amber will come
crawling in as well during the course of the night.And while I’m happy to share the bed with
them, I prefer to sleep when I’m in it.Cole loves midnight conversations – lots of asking of questions and
random bits of useless information shared with me too.So, we’ll be three in the bed, right?No, we’ll be four.And no, the fourth person is not Luke – he
would rather DIE.The fourth person in
bed will be my grandchild – Cole’s butternut-baby.So, what is a butternut-baby you might
ask?Well it’s a whole raw butternut,
that Cole has lovingly drawn a face on- actually Amber helped him a bit.He’s a really odd kid.But then again, so is Amber, because she’s
also had butternut-babies in the past.It was an initiative by Beaumont a few years ago where they instructed
all of the Grade 7 kids to make a butternut-baby complete with face and
name.I suppose a teaching tool, about
responsibilities and consequences with regards to having children and indulging
in sex at a too early age.

And once again, Cole has
expressed a need for a butternut baby.He’s carried it around a bit on a sling behind his back, sleeps with it
in his bed and croons at it every so often.Tonight, he even shared his warm beanbag with his butternut baby in case
it got cold.And just to prove how
quirky he really is, he’s named it Yoko.Yet it’s a boy – not sure how he can tell.So, until Grant gets home on Sunday night, it
will just be me and the mountain of responsibilities and tasks ahead of me on
my solo flight into parenting.Me, my
hormonal teenager, my entrepreneurial Amber, my maternal son, Cole and my
grandchild, Yoko, who we might end up eating soon.A sort of sacrificial type of thing.Nothing wrong with eating your own young.

Amber's "Goompies" sold like hot cakes, yet they're merely flour filled balloons. Like little friendly stressballs. She's even made some to order after being sold out on the day.

Sadly her bracelets didn't do so well, so she's generously giving them away to all and sundry

Entrepreneurship Day

I would like to take this opportunity to introduce my grandson, Yoko. I think he takes after Grant, because he's also bald. Poor boy!

Cole's French Knitting

Lots of very odd pieces sticking out - full of lumps and bumps

Cole would like to make a carpet for our lounge. Despite 3 weeks of knitting, his "carpet" only has a diameter of about 10cm. So, it's still a ways to go.

Wednesday, 24 October 2012

Well, the point is this.As a child (and even as a teenager, and while
we’re having a bout of honesty here, even as an adult) I gorged myself on the
Sound of Music and I can truly say that it is one of my all-time favourite
movies.Such an uplifting, happy,
inspirational, nice-girl-makes-good-and-gets-the-guy type of movies.And then of course, there’s the singing.And we all know just how much I love to
sing.I know every word of every
song.I know the order of the songs and
can even re-enact some parts.I know,
I’m pretty sad and seriously need to get out more.

So, here’s the thing.I blame Julie Andrews.No, really I do.It’s all her fault.She created a completely unrealistic
expectation of what being a mother is like.She was all “raindrops on roses”, rowing in little boats, teaching them catchy
songs and making ever so dashing outfits from the drapes in her bedroom.I mean, jeez!Who can compete with that???

She made loving children, even
though they were not her own, look so easy.She was understanding and compassionate.She was creative and fun.She was
quirky and had a great sense of humour.She had a beautiful voice, a lovely figure, good hair and was able to
dance.And for her final little coup
d’tat, she even managed to entrap the ever so fit Captain Von Trapp.As a little girl I thought he was ever so
suave and handsome.A real gentleman,
although he was a wee bit austere in the beginning.

No mere mortal mom can compete
with her brilliance.But then perhaps,
“movie-world” is merely to be seen as wonderful escapism and not to be taken
too seriously.Yet, I probably was
unable to differentiate.

So this is where I’m at on
“The-Julie-Andrews-Mother-of-the-year-award” stakes:

·I don’t sew – so I seriously lucked out
there.Apart from my limited and
self-taught crafting sewing skills, my sole sewing repertoire with my kids
consists of sewing blue tinsel onto Amber’s angel dress, which I borrowed from
a friend, whilst sitting outside in the car, on the morning of the Chatterbox
Xmas Concert.And sewing big brown spots
onto an outfit for Luke one year when he was a cow, also in a Chatterbox Xmas
Concert.That’s it.And let’s be honest, neither attempt would
have survived closer scrutiny and inspection.The thought of what I’d do to a pair of drapes is dreadful.Or wait, maybe if I lay my kids down on the
drapes and simply cut around their body outlines, and merely stapled the bits
together, I’d make some rather fetching ensembles.Now, the question is this – exactly what are
drapes?Personally, I only have curtains
and blinds.Oh, well!That’s hardly my fault, so I guess I’m off
the hook there.

·The lovely voice, is an ambition, not entirely
realised.Not that it puts me off at
all.Perseverance and all that.And just today when I took Amber to her
dancing lesson and the two of us were singing Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody loudly,
I re-iterated my need for a microphone in the car.I’m quite convinced that it will improve my
vocal prowess.Note to self – speak to
Albert.He’s sure to have one lying
around.Alternatively a kiddies one will
simply have to do.

·I REALLY don’t have the whole good-hair-thing
going for me.I have little tufts that
stick up on the sides, which Grant unkindly calls my horns.Personally I think his comments are purely
motivated by jealousy – what with him being bald and all.

·The lovely figure is an on-going strive.The best I can hope for is a modicum of
medium-ish weight and the clever disguise of flattering clothes.At present I am dieting like mad, because Grant
and I have got a black tie event coming up in just under two weeks’ time.I have the most amazing, stunning, gorgeous
dress that I would love to wear.A dress
I confess to being completely in love with.And one that I blatantly abuse any opportunity to wear.However, at present, I fear that the only
part of my stunning evening outfit I might fit into, are my shoes.But, hey, that’s a start.Slowly but surely though, the weight is
coming off and I hope that by the end of the week, I might be able to fit into
my earrings as well.And then from there
it’s just a short leap…..

·Dancing – I have two left feet.Enough said.It ain’t pretty people.

·Now, when it comes to the raindrops on roses
thing, I don’t do it in a singsong style with my kids.It’s more of a “you are so lucky because…….”,
and “you can be so grateful for…..”.Which probably does detract from the true gist of the original song a
bit.

·As for Captain Von Trapp, I sure managed to trap
my very own version.When Grant and I
were still in the beginning phases of getting to know each other, before even
going out, I saw him in his Navy Ice Cream uniform.Well, I nearly melted in a puddle, I tell
you.So, he wasn’t a commander.So he didn’t have a whistle.So he didn’t have a small platoon of
kids.I didn’t care.For me it was close enough.

·I love kids.Passionately.But even I pale at
the thought of seven!How did that poor
woman do it???And for me at least,
after the magical cathedral wedding, I always imagined Maria adding to their
brood.She was clearly made from sterner
stuff than me.

·Now, as for loving my kids, I’m afraid I do beat
her on that score.Because I adore my
three, and would happily add at least another one or two to my family.And I know without a shadow of a doubt that I
could love any child.Not merely one
that I had a hand in creating.

So, to quote the Mother Superior,
how do you solve a problem like Maria?Well, I think you take it all with a little pinch of salt.You do the best you can.You love them like mad and the rest will sort
itself out.